


Visions

by Zena (HowNovel)



Category: Starman (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1991-09-07
Updated: 1991-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-25 19:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/273836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowNovel/pseuds/Zena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While fleeing from Fox, Paul and Scott take refuge in a basement and encounter a psychic who helps the fugitive pair in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Visions

VISIONS  
By Zena

Copyright September 1991. This story is an amateur publication written for the enjoyment of Starman fans. The characters and places contained within are a product of the author's imagination and any resemblance is strictly coincidental. This publication is not meant to infringe upon any copyrights held by Henerson- Hirsch, Michael Douglas Productions, Columbia Pictures or ABC-TV. This material may not be copied or reproduced without express permission of the author. All rights reserved.

Paul got out of bed at quarter to six in the morning and put the water on the stove for coffee. It had been a rough night. He'd stayed up until the early hours of the morning helping Scott study for an important math exam.

Scott was having trouble with the material, but it was almost like child's play to the Starman. Paul patiently explained what his son didn't understand. The Starman was well-educated in all forms of math. To be a navigator as well as a mapmaker and pilot, he had to be.

Scott slowly walked to the kitchen and sat at the table. "G'mornin'," he yawned, sleepy-eyed.

"Good-morning," Paul answered cheerfully. He looked over his shoulder and noticed the expression on his son's face. He knew exactly how Scott felt. Paul didn't enjoy getting up early either. "Are you ready for that exam?" he asked.

"Mmm," Scott mumbled. He opened the book they'd left on the table last night and began skimming the material. Scott wanted to do as much last minute cramming as possible before the test.

Paul finished frying the pancakes and served breakfast. "Don't worry about it," he said with a smile. "You'll do fine. You're smart."

"Oh, yeah," Scott quipped. "That's easy for you to say. Everything's easy for you," he added as he went back to studying and eating.

"Not everything," Paul replied, grinning. "Trying to understand humans...that's hard."

Shaking his head, Scott smiled and laughed.

Paul arrived at the newspaper and reported to Mr. Hill's office for his assignment. He thought the Daily Herald was a nice place to work and the people were easy to get along with, especially his boss.

John Hill was a husky man in his mid-thirties. He had a voice that could crack the plaster on the wall when he was angry, and yet he could be as gentle as the Starman when he was calm, as he was today. John was proud to have the famous Paul Forrester on his staff. The pictures Paul had taken so far had been outstanding.

Amanda lay in her cozy warm bed, twisting restlessly. The dream she'd had for the last two months was coming again and each time it was as frightening as the first. In her dream, she saw a man and his son who had done nothing wrong running for their lives with the police not far behind. She knew they were exhausted and that they had run this dangerous race much too often. Each time the dream ended with the innocent pair trapped.

She woke up at that point and stared out the window. God, I hate this, she thought. Amanda looked at the time on the alarm clock and got up. After breakfast she got dressed and sat down facing the mirror as she combed her long, honey-colored hair. Soon, very soon now, she thought, this dream will materialize into reality.

Today was George Fox's first day back at work. After a medical exam indicated extreme stress buildup, General Wade, with George's test results in hand, had ordered him to take a vacation before he suffered a complete mental breakdown. And the order was just that, an order.

George objected, insisting he had never felt better, but the tests said otherwise. General Wade threatened to close Forrester's file permanently if he didn't take that vacation, so George took the two weeks off and hated every second of it. He couldn't wait for the time to pass so he could resume the hunt. He had work to do, urgent, serious work. The alien was either the most important discovery, or greatest threat this planet has ever faced since the beginning of recorded human history. He had to find it. Vacations are a waste of time, he thought.

George drove his car to the underground parking garage of the FSA building and went to his office. "Good-morning, Edna," he said to his secretary.

"Good-morning, Mr. Fox," she replied. "Welcome back. Did you have a nice vacation?"

"Yes, I did. Thank you," he lied. He didn't want to spoil her cheerful smile by telling her he was bored to death. "Were there any inquiries to my computer flag?" he asked her.

"I'm sorry, no."

"Okay. Would you bring me a cup of coffee and the paper, please?"

"Certainly, Mr. Fox."

As Edna left, George sat down at his desk and leaned against the leather chair. It felt so good to be back!

Edna returned shortly with the requested items, placed them on his desk and returned to her office.

George picked up the paper and began rummaging through it. As he turned the pages he noticed a humorous human interest photo and almost choked on his coffee when he read the caption. It said, photo by Paul Forrester.

"Edna!" he shouted. "Get in here!"

"Yes, sir?" she answered as she peeked through the door, startled.

"Where's Wylie?" he asked.

"Not in yet, sir. What is it?"

"See if you can get a trace on this photo," he said as he handed her the paper. "Find out where they got it and let me know...and tell Wylie I want to see him as soon as he gets in."

"Yes, sir."

George turned around and faced the familiar map on the wall with push pins all over it. I'll get you now, Forrester, he smiled.

A short time later, Edna had the information her boss requested. She knocked on the door and entered, laying her notes on the desk.

After a quick scan of the information, George said, "That's great. Now see if you can make some flight arrangements to this place."

"It's already done, sir. I figured you might want me to do that," she said.

"Excellent! Thank you, that'll be all," he told her.

Wylie walked in his boss's office a few minutes later and immediately sensed Fox's itchy excitement. "You wanted to see me, sir?" he asked.

"We've got him this time, Wylie," George replied with gleaming anticipation.

"Forrester?"

"Yes. I spotted a photo that he took in this morning's paper. Edna's already made the flight arrangements. C'mon, let's go."

Within the hour, Fox, Wylie and three of Fox's operatives were on a plane on their way to Boston, Massachusetts. So, Forrester is on the east coast now, Fox thought with alarm. The alien's getting more daring in his travels.

The flight from Washington D.C. to Boston was a couple of short hours. The plane landed at Logan International Airport uneventfully. Fox, Wylie and the agents took the rental car company shuttle to the rental office and picked up their car, then immediately went to the local police station of the town Forrester was supposedly in.

"I'll be with you in a minute," Paul said to Mark Ellison, his partner. "I've got to drop this film off and make a pit stop. I'll see you upstairs, okay?"

"Okay," Mark nodded. "I'll go find John and tell him we're back," he said as he started up the stairs.

Paul walked down the hall. The assignment had taken weeks. He and Mark had been sneaking around for days trying to get the necessary photos to back up the evidence presented in the article about shady car dealers who fenced stolen cars. Their patience had been rewarded this morning when Paul took the incriminating pictures proving their case. When the story broke, police and federal agents would be crawling all over that place. Of course, Paul planned to be out of the area when that happened. It meant quitting this job and he regretted that. He liked it here. The Starman dropped off the film at the photo lab, then he went to the men's room.

Amanda owned a little country craft store and lived in the studio apartment above. She went downstairs to get ready to open the store and found herself standing transfixed at the foot of the stairs. The vision was back, and this time it was stronger than ever. It's happening, she thought. The transformation from a dream to reality had begun.

Fox marched into the Daily Herald building and straight into the editor-in- chief's office.

John Hill stood up at the sudden interruption and asked, "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm George Fox of the Federal Security Agency," George responded, showing his identification. "Are you John Hill?"

"That's right. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a man by the name of Paul Forrester working here?" George asked.

"Maybe. What's your interest?" John asked. He would hate to lose Paul. How often does a prize winning photographer of Paul's caliber come into your grasp? Since Paul came to the Herald, his work had breathed new life into the sinking tabloid.

"I have no time to play games with you," Fox threatened. "And I'm warning you: obstructing a federal officer in the line of duty is a crime, punishable by fine, imprisonment or both. So is aiding and abetting a fugitive. Forrester is wanted by the FSA for questioning. Now, do you have him here or not?"

"Yeah, he's here," John replied with great disappointment. He had no idea Paul was a fugitive from the government.

"Take me to him. Now," George demanded. John stepped outside his office and looked around the room. "Hey, Fred,"

John called to a reporter, "Where's Forrester?"

"He's still on that assignment with Ellison, remember?" the man replied.

"Oh yeah, that's right. Want to wait for him, Mr. Fox? They should be back soon," he told the agent.

"Yes." Fox turned to the three FSA agents that had accompanied him and Wylie and instructed, "Hanson, Starr, Rainman, secure all the exits. And stay out of sight," he emphasized. "I don't want Forrester to escape when he gets here, but for God's sake, don't spook him."

"Yes, sir," the men responded.

George could hardly believe it. Forrester would walk right into his lap!

At that moment, a man in his mid-forties with salt and pepper colored hair walked in.

"Hey, Ellison, where's Paul?" John asked.

Mark looked at his boss and the antsy little man standing with him and replied, "He's dropping the film off at developing and then he said he was going to the men's room. He should be up any minute."

"Where's the men's room?" George asked.

"Can't you just wait until he gets here?" John snapped angrily.

"No," Fox answered. "Now where is it?"

John pointed to the stairs and told him to go down the corridor. God, this man is pushy, he thought, to not even let a man finish relieving himself.

Paul came out of the bathroom and started upstairs. He stopped when he recognized an all-too-frightening voice coming from the main floor above. Fox! I have to get out of here and get Scott.

Paul hurried back downstairs and ran for the emergency exit in the basement of building. It has to be that picture I took a couple of days ago that the AP wire service picked up, he thought. Why won't people respect my wishes when I tell them I don't want any credit? Paul agreed to run the photo after he was assured there would be no byline. He gambled Fox wouldn't see it, a gamble he now knew he'd lost.

Paul reached the exit door and opened it a crack. He peeked out and looked for Fox's partner, Wylie, and the police. The big agent wasn't there and neither was the law. The Starman ran to the apartment hoping Fox hadn't yet found out where he lived.

"Come with me, Mr. Hill," Fox ordered. "I may just need your help," he said as they walked to the lavatory. Mark followed them as well.

George nearly rammed the door in as he entered the bathroom, startling a couple of gentlemen standing at the urinals. He proceeded to check out the stalls and found all but one empty. The occupant of the filled stall was none too happy when George tried to force the door open. George apologized for the intrusion. "Well, where is he?" he asked Mark.

"I don't know. He said he had to go to the men's room and then he said he'd come up, honest."

"I want a full search of the building right now!" the angry agent barked at Hill.

"Wait a minute, Fox!" John shouted. "Suppose you tell me what Paul's wanted for, anyway. What did he do?"

"I told you, he's wanted for questioning," Fox spat out. "That's all you need to know."

"Not if you want my help, it isn't. Paul's a good man. I'm not gonna turn him over to you unless you tell me what he did." "I'm afraid I can't. The charges are classified. It's a matter of national

security. Now I suggest you cooperate or I'll have you arrested."

"National security?" John asked sarcastically. "What kind of crap is that? What did he do, steal some ultra top secret material from you guys or something?"

"Or something," George replied with irritation. "Are you going to cooperate now or am I going to have to arrest you?"

"Okay, okay." John, Mark and George hurried out of the bathroom to the nearest phone where John put a page out on Forrester. If anyone saw him, they were to hold him until he and George got there.

George pulled out his walkie-talkie and told his team and Wylie to be on the alert in case Forrester tried to leave the building.

More than enough minutes passed by with no response. Fox could feel his blood pressure rising. Somehow he knew Forrester had escaped...again.

Paul stopped within view of the apartment building he and Scott had occupied for the past couple of months. He looked around for Fox's men, but saw no one. Cautiously, he went up to the entrance and stepped inside.

Starman was alone in the hall. He stopped in front of the door to their apartment and pulled out his sphere, activating it. He scanned for the presence of other humans inside. It told him no one was there. He was still safe.

Paul pocketed the sphere and walked in. He grabbed his and Scott's duffle bags and began packing them as fast as he could, stuffing them any which way. There was no time for neatness. Time was precious now and he had so little of it. When he finished, he took the key and tossed it on the kitchen counter as he left to get Scott.

When Starman reached the school grounds, he set his and Scott's bags on the dirt and glanced at his watch. The dismissal bell was due to ring any minute now. Anxiously, Paul waited by the fence while looking around for his enemy. So far there was no sign of Fox or his men.

The bell rang and the crowd of students began coming out. Paul searched for his son's face among the others. Spotting him, he called out, "Scott! Over here!"

Hearing his father's voice, Scott looked around and saw him standing by the yard gate. Sprouting a wide grin, he ran to the Starman, but the cheerful expression quickly disappeared when he noticed the duffle bags by his father's feet.

"Let me guess," he said, surmising the situation. "Fox is here, right?"

"Yes," Paul said. "I packed everything. Let's go. I don't know how much of a lead we have."

Scott sighed as he took the backpack from his father's hand and slung it over his shoulder. They started in the opposite direction from their apartment.

"I hate this," Scott told Paul.

"I know," Starman replied. "I do, too. But would you rather be in Fox's hands or mine?"

"I think we both know the answer to that question."

"I'm sorry, Scott," Paul apologized. "I screwed up again. Forgive me."

"It's okay, Dad."

Fox's men searched the building and came up empty-handed. "Damn. How did he slip out?" Fox asked.

"Probably went out a window in the back," Mark said. He felt chills run down his spine when Fox stared at him.

George's eyes were like cold ice as he looked at Ellison. "I need a phone with an outside line. Now," he snapped.

John took him to the nearest one. Fox picked up the receiver and asked the operator to connect him with the local police department.

"That number is in the book," a female voice replied.

"Don't give me any flack, lady! Just connect me!" Fox shouted. "...Thank you very much, Chief. We'll be waiting for you out front," Fox said as he hung up. "Gentlemen," he addressed John and Mark, "thank you for your help. We'll take care of this now. Good day." George stalked out. His men looked at each other sullenly, then followed their boss.

As John watched through his office window, the police arrived and met the waiting FSA agents. After a brief conversation, the police scattered to their cars. Fox and his men went to their car and joined the departing police cruisers.

John told Mark to follow the agents in a car at a discrete distance. "Find out what's going on," he told the man. There was a good story here, he was certain of it. Maybe he could help Paul, too. John felt sorry and frightened for him. What did Paul do? The charges are classified? Why is the government so interested in him, he asked himself. And what'll happen if they catch Paul? What if he resists arrest? Will they kill him? Those thoughts made John shiver as he sat at his desk, punching the keyboard trying to dig up whatever information he could on Paul Forrester. He would even try to hack into the government's computer files if he could.

Paul and Scott were by an alley when they heard the screaming wail of a police siren nearby. They'd been spotted! There were many people walking on the street, but no one seemed to notice as the Starman and the teenager ran down the alley.

The officer notified his superior over the radio that the two suspects had been located and he was going to leave his unit to give chase on foot. He quickly gave the dispatcher the location, then pulled his weapon and started after the fugitives.

Paul and Scott headed for the chain-link fence at the end of the alley. When they reached it, however, they knew they'd made a mistake. They were trapped.

Beyond the fence was a canal. They couldn't jump into the water; it was freezing cold. The only options left were to try the doors of the buildings on either side. Starman took the one on the left and Scott went to the right.

Scott tried the knob to the door. "It's locked, Dad," he said. Paul tried his door and found it locked, too, but it opened when he touched

the lock. "In here, Scott! Hurry!" he cried.

The boy ran to join his father. They quickly ducked inside and closed the door. Father and son stood there motionless trying to catch their breath.

The room was dark with covered windows and smelled of mustiness. It was a storage room of some kind. "Welcome, Paul, Scott," a voice called out.

The startled pair turned in unison, trying to see who had spoken their names. As their eyes adjusted to the darkness they could discern a silhouetted figure standing at the opposite side of the room at the foot of a flight of stairs.

"They're coming," she said. "Quickly, go up these stairs and wait for me in the kitchen."

But Starman and Scott stood there transfixed. "Go! Now!" she urged, "Or do you want me to turn you over to the police?"

That got the pair moving. Who wanted to argue with someone who was offering sanctuary? Outside, Paul and Scott heard muffled footsteps. They ran upstairs two steps at a time and waited by the door, listening.

The door to the alley reverberated from the pounding of a heavy fist. "Open up! Police!" an agitated voice outside said. Amanda went to answer the knocking, taking her time as she turned on the light and picked up the purring cat by her feet. She opened the door. "Yes?" she asked pleasantly.

"Where'd they go?" Fox demanded, his face red from rage and exertion.

"Where did who go?" Amanda asked innocently.

"Two people, a man in his thirties and a teenaged boy," Fox breathlessly explained.

"I'm sorry, I haven't seen anyone," she replied.

"Damn! Wrong door. Let's try the next one over," Fox barked to his men and the police officers. "Thanks, lady," Fox hollered as he ran back the way he'd come.

"What's going on, Sergeant Matthews?" Amanda asked as the g-men and other officers headed back towards the street.

"Nothing to worry about, Miss. Just looking for two fugitives. Lock your door, okay?"

"I will," Amanda smiled as she closed the door. She walked up the stairs to meet the two bewildered men standing in her kitchen, eying her uneasily. "I'll just be a minute," she told them. "I'm just going to tell Lucy to mind the store for the next couple of hours."

When she returned, Paul and Scott gazed at her inquisitively. "I know, I know," she said, "Don't even ask it. How do I know who you are? Please, sit down," she said and pointed to two chairs tucked under the table. "My name is Amanda Lightcloud."

Paul and Scott laid their bags on the floor and took a seat as she ordered. The look on their faces showed they were genuinely puzzled.

"Gentlemen, I know a lot about you," she told them.

"Like what?" Scott asked nervously.

"Like you two are running from a government agent for one."

Paul and Scott gazed at her, panic in their eyes. Was she with Fox? Did she work for the Government? How did she know about them?

"Let me explain," she said.

"Please do," Paul replied.

"This isn't going to be easy," she told them as she sat down at the table with her guests. "The best way to explain it is, I have a gift. I can sometimes see things before they happen."

"A psychic?" Scott asked as Paul looked at his son.

"Yes."

Starman wondered what a psychic was and made a mental note to ask Scott later for further information.

"I saw you coming here a long time ago. I've been expecting you," she said.

Starman and Scott listened as she explained her psychic abilities. Paul found his curiousity peaking while Scott shrunk back into his chair. A creepy chill ran up the boy's spine.

"When I was five years old I had an accident," she continued. "I hit my head when I fell from a peach tree. Ever since then I've had visions of past and future occurrences. It usually starts with a short daydream, a flash of a picture in my mind for just a second. If it truly is an event then more pictures will come.

"I don't have any control over them. They can be from the past, present or future; I don't know which until further along. And they can happen at any time. I could be walking along the street and suddenly I just stand there, frozen, while the image comes. When it's over I join the real world again. It feels like time has skipped over me for an instant."

"What did you see about us?" Paul dared to ask.

"At first, just images of you and your son," she smiled. "But every day more images came, like you working for a newspaper; photojournalism, right?"

Paul nodded.

"I saw your son in school. Pretty good grades, too."

It was Scott's turn to smile.

"And I saw things that I didn't understand at first like stars; space, a distant planet in another galaxy, a spaceship and a blue light. I saw you, Scott, in an orphanage or something like that, screaming in the middle of the night and then holding some round thing that glowed in your hand. You called him," she looked at the Starman.

Father and son exchanged glances. Paul was fascinated. Scott, on the other hand, was certain he'd stepped into 'The Twilight Zone.'

"I saw you come here in your spaceship, Paul. You were a blue light, with no body. It took me a while to believe I wasn't going crazy, but I know what you are, Paul Forrester."

"You do?" he asked nervously.

"Yes. You're an alien from another world. You came here to help your son. And there's someone else, too; someone who's missing."

Paul and Scott were staring at the woman in shock. It was as if they'd told her their life stories, yet they'd never met her before today.

"Yes," Starman answered. "I come from a planet in a star system in the constellation you call Leo. Here, my home star is called Algeiba. We have another name which would be impossible for you to pronounce. The missing person you refer to is Jenny Hayden, Scott's mother."

"I see."

"You do?"

"No," she said with a giggle. "What I mean is I understand the vision now. I felt an extremely strong bond between you and this woman. Now I know why."

Paul smiled. "You aren't frightened of me, are you?" he asked.

"No, not at all. I've seen your kind, gentle nature. I know you wouldn't hurt me, or anyone else either. That's not frightening, it's beautiful."

"Did you tell anyone else about us?" Paul asked.

"Who'd believe me?" Amanda laughed. "Besides, I've learned through experience to keep my mouth shut and my gift to myself."

"Why?"

"Because I've lost nearly every friend I have because of this gift. It frightens them when they realize I can see into the future, possibly theirs. It makes them very uncomfortable and sometimes your dearest friend can become your most vicious enemy...Life isn't a bed of roses. Sometimes it deals you a cruel and ugly hand...and some visions are downright horrifying."

"I don't think I'd mind it," Scott replied. "It's kinda spooky, but neat."

"Wouldn't mind it, huh?" Amanda replied. "I think you'd reconsider if you could see what I've seen. Sometimes, like now, it's a blessing. No one has died in this vision, at least not yet, but how would you feel if you saw perhaps, a murder? Would you want to see that? That kind of vision is a curse. Be careful what you wish for, Scott. You may just get it."

"Did you see a murder?" Paul asked sadly.

"Yes, a few years ago. It was horrible. The police ran out of leads and asked me to help them catch the murderer. They generally stay away from psychics because they don't believe in it. They think it's a bunch of black magic and voodoo. But this time they had exhausted all their leads and came up with nothing, so I guess they figured they had nothing to lose by asking me."

"So what happened?" Scott inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

"I took the only piece of evidence they had, a rag doll that belonged to one of the victims, and I held it. A vision came. There was a young man who had been abused as a child. He vented his rage on other children, killing them after he molested them. It was disgusting."

"Oh, gross!" said Scott. Now he really didn't want to know more.

"Yes," she said. "I told you some visions were terrible. I think your father would agree with me, it's best we not discuss it any further."

"Yes," Paul replied as he reached out and touched her hand. His empathic senses recoiled at the barbarism of the memory. "I'm sorry. We shouldn't have pried," he apologized.

"No, it's okay," she told them. "I shouldn't have gone on about it in the first place. Sometimes I talk too much for my own good. Anyway, I've learned to live with my visions, both good and bad. And if I can help someone, it evens the score and makes me feel good."

"Why are you helping us?" Starman asked.

"Do you want me to turn you in?" she asked, surprised.

"No!" Scott cried. "Please! Don't! He didn't mean it that way."

"Don't worry, Scott," she smiled. "I wouldn't."

Starman's son visibly relaxed. Paul repeated the question.

"Because I understand your predicament," she answered. "I saw Fox. I know what he wants and what he'll do to you if he gets you. It isn't right; it's wrong, terribly wrong. He'd imprison you for the rest of your lives. He'll treat you like animals, worse, like insects to be exterminated."

"I wish he'd drop dead," Scott replied matter of factly and immediately regretted saying it out loud. He noticed his father was obviously displeased by the remark. Silently, he apologized.

"He did, once," Amanda said. "But your father went back and helped him."

Once again, Paul and Scott gazed at her in awe of her abilities.

"I saw it," she simply shrugged. "Are you two hungry?" she asked her guests, trying to change the subject.

"Yes," they both answered. Paul smiled at Scott. Whenever anyone offered free food, Scott was there to take them up on it. Paul really couldn't blame him. Not knowing when your next meal would come, you took whatever you could get.

"I can heat up a can of stew. That okay?"

"Anything," Scott replied. "You never told us though, did the police get the guy?"

"Yes. He's in prison now and he'll spend the rest of his life there. He deserves death, but that isn't for me to decide."

Scott glanced at his father and noticed his unease. Scott knew Paul couldn't

understand how humans could say or do such a thing to another human being. It was unthinkable in the Starman's eyes. Scott also knew Paul wanted to say something about it, but had decided to keep quiet.

The stew was soon ready and Amanda served her guests. She sat down at the table and smiled as she watched Scott swallow the food as fast as he could spoon it into his mouth. "Slow down," she told the boy. "You don't want to get a stomach ache, do you?"

"I'm sorry, but running from Fox makes me hungry," he feebly replied between spoonfuls. Starman's son polished off the bowl in record time.

"I can heat more if you want," Amanda offered.

Scott looked at his father. "Uh, no thank you," he said, seeing the familiar expression on Paul's face which told him not to impose on her hospitality.

As Paul ate, he glanced outside the window every now and then, looking for Fox. Amanda noticed.

"Don't worry, Paul. I told them I didn't see you. They believed me."

"I know. Thank you."

When Paul and Scott finished their meal, Amanda placed the bowls in the sink, then sat at the table again. "You said the missing woman is his mother?" she asked Paul.

"Yes."

"Do either of you have a picture or something of hers with you?"

"Yeah, I have an old photo," Scott told her. "It's the only thing I've got. Why?"

"Maybe I can help you find her."

Paul and Scott looked at her with hope in their eyes.

"May I see the picture?" she asked.

"Can many people do what you do?" Paul asked her as Scott pulled out his wallet.

"You mean have visions?"

"Yes."

"No," she replied. "Probably one percent of the world's population, if that, have the gift. And out of that one percent, more than half don't even know they have it. Some who don't claim they do. They use fakery and tricks. Other people have dreams that come true like mine, but they don't know it's their ESP."

"What is ESP?" the Starman asked.

"It stands for extra-sensory perception, Dad," Scott said.

"Yes. We all have it to some extent, one way or another," she continued. "It's what some people like to call our sixth sense."

Scott brought out the badly worn photo. "It's kinda ragged," he said.

"It'll do," she told him softly. "Now place it in my hand."

Scott did as he was told. She clasped her other hand over it and pressed them together tightly. She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them and stared ahead, transfixed.

"Amanda?" Paul called, but she did not respond. Starman gently placed his hand on her shoulder. The vision raced into his mind. He saw Jenny, his beautiful Jenny with her long dark hair, soft eyes and slender figure. It looked like he could reach out and touch her. Then the scene changed to a street with little shops and many people walking by. There were tall evergreens in the background. The sign on one small shop window said it was a craft store, and written above it was the town, Jackson Hole. The image faded and finally went dark. Paul withdrew his hand and waited for Amanda to come out of her trance. Scott was not as patient.

"What did you see, Dad?" he asked.

"She'll tell you," he said.

"Dad!"

Amanda blinked and returned to the normal world. She told Scott everything she saw.

"Where is this Jackson Hole?" Paul asked.

"Wyoming," Scott told him.

"That's where she is," Amanda said. "it may not be exact, but it'll be pretty close. Or it could mean that she's just been there, I don't know. Anyway, it's a place to start," she smiled and handed the photo back to Scott. He took the picture and replaced it in his wallet. He looked at her and a tear rolled down his face.

"Thanks. You don't know how much this means to me," the teen choked out.

Paul put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder and felt his joy at hearing the news. He hadn't seen such joy on his son's face since Scott saw Jenny from the base of that cliff in Arizona.

Paul smiled and thanked the woman. In all this time, he hadn't been able to come up with any clues like she just did. Paul promised himself to read all he could on ESP and psychics when he had the opportunity.

"Try looking in the craft store first," Amanda said. "I saw a painting in there that she's done. It's a portrait of you, Paul. The initials on it are LJ." Amanda looked at her watch. "C'mon, it's time to go."

"Go where?" Scott asked.

"To the train station," she told him.

"But we don't have any money for a ticket," Scott replied.

"Oh, yes, you do. I'm buying the tickets," she said.

"That's very generous," Paul started, "but we can't accept..."

"Yes, you can," she rebutted. "No more arguments. Let's go."

Paul and Scott followed Amanda to the garage. She cautiously looked out the garage door windows for anyone suspicious hanging around, but saw no one.

"Get in the car and duck down," she instructed. "The Feds may still be watching this place."

"Right," Scott replied.

Father and son got inside, Paul in front and Scott in back. Amanda climbed into the driver's seat and backed out, then drove out of town.

Fox was livid. He hadn't found one trace of Forrester or Scott Hayden. A search of Forrester's apartment and the high school turned up no clues. The alien had vanished again.

An alley by alley search also proved fruitless, although the officer who radioed in swore he saw the pair go down one of them. George, Wylie and George's operatives joined the local police patrolling the town's streets until the last possible moment before their flight back to Washington D.C.

The police had an APB out on Forrester and Scott. If the fugitives were spotted, the chief promised to notify George, but as the hours dragged by, George had little hope the chief would call. They're long gone by now, Fox thought.

It was another mess he had to explain to the general. George could almost hear it now. At least he had positive proof Forrester had been here. When he got back to Washington, he would tell his men to be on the lookout for Forrester on both coasts. Now it would be twice as hard to find them. It was bad enough that Forrester was loose on the west coast, but now he was going all over the country!

And George couldn't request more men. The general had given him all the men he could spare, and that wasn't enough. George gritted his teeth at the thought of his already thin team cut down even more. One day I'll get you, Forrester, he thought.

Mark Ellison went to John Hill's office. His boss was still punching keys at the computer. John looked up. "Well?" he asked.

"They lost him," Mark replied. "Fox checked out Paul's apartment and the high school, then he spent the whole afternoon looking for him to come out of one of those alleys downtown, but Forrester just disappeared."

"That's good news. I didn't like that hostile creep of an agent."

"Me either," Mark agreed. "Too pushy. You get anything good on there?" he inquired about the computer.

"Yeah, look at this. There's some real interesting stuff on Forrester."

John and Mark read Paul's bio which really didn't yield anything unexpected until they got to the Mt. Hawthorne eruption and the helicopter crash.

"From here on it looks like Paul Forrester vanished off the face of the earth," John said. "There're no more reports of his missing deadlines; having affairs at wild parties, skimming around with the jet-set crowd, nothing. It's like that Forrester doesn't exist anymore. It's weird, Mark. And look at this thing with Fox. It quotes him saying, 'the alien was here.'"

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know, but I intend to find out."

"Is Fox saying Paul is an alien..." he questioned, "from out there?"

"It sounds like that. Come to think of it," John mused, "did you notice how Paul shied away from any attention? He constantly insisted on not taking any credit for his photos."

"You don't really believe Paul is an..."

"Don't be ridiculous!" John retorted. "Paul Forrester's been runnin' from one person or another ever since he's been born....Still, it is curious. He never missed a deadline, preferred peace and quiet to hellraising, and even has a son that's never been mentioned before. His photographic eye seems to have changed, too. His pictures aren't so hard and gritty like they used to be. Now they're soft and warm."

"You think maybe there's an imposter going around posing as Paul?"

"I don't know, but it's a good theory. He sure looked like Forrester, though." John stroked a few more keys.

"Hey, there's Liz Baines' name," Mark pointed out. "Don't you know her?" "As a matter of fact, I do. I think I'll buzz her and see if she can shed

some light on this." He picked up the receiver.

Paul, Scott and Amanda arrived safely at the train station. She had successfully eluded Fox and the police. "Stay here and I'll be right back," she told them as she got out of the car and went to the ticket office.

A short while later she returned. "There's a train leaving within twenty minutes to Denver on track one," she informed Paul and Scott. "You can catch a connector from there to Jackson Hole. Here," she said as she offered the tickets.

"Thank you," Paul replied as he took them. "At least let me give you something..." He reached for his wallet.

"No. I told you I was buying these. It's my gift. Now go, and good luck."

Paul and Scott gathered their bags. Starman leaned towards Amanda and kissed her. "Good-bye, and thank you."

"Yeah, thanks, Miss Lightcloud," Scott added with a smile on his face and a sparkle in his eyes.

THE END

Amanda smiled as father and son got out of her car. "Good-bye, Paul, Scott. Take care of yourselves," she told them.

"We will," Paul replied. They walked to the platform.

Amanda waited until they were aboard and the train was rolling on its way, then drove back to her place. She sincerely hoped her vision would reunite Scott with his mother and Paul with his true love.

It was a small lead, but it filled Paul and Scott with hope they hadn't had in a long time.

"That was nice of her, Dad," Scott said, "seeing if she could find Mom with her visions."

"Yes, it was. I still find it astonishing how much she knew about us," Paul answered.

"Yeah, it was kind of weird, wasn't it?"

Paul nodded and they both looked out the window of the sleeping car, watching as the scenery rolled by. "You think we'll find Mom this time?" Scott asked his father hopefully.

Paul knew Scott was looking for a sign of encouragement. He put his arm around his son's shoulders and pulled him close. "We'll see, Scott," he smiled.

Paul and Scott walked into the craft store Amanda had described in her vision. They smiled as they saw the oil painting hanging on the back wall. It was a portrait of Paul against a black background of tiny silver stars. "She was right!" Scott exclaimed joyfully, barely able contain his excitement. Paul introduced himself and Scott to the owner. Then, with renewed confidence Paul asked, "Have you seen the woman who painted this picture?" He rolled off a description of Jenny as he had done so many times before. "She's his mother," he indicated his son. "We're trying to find her."

The owner did a doubletake as he looked at the painting. "It's you!" he exclaimed.

"Yes," Paul answered quietly. "Have you seen her?" he repeated.

"Yeah," the man answered.

Scott and Starman smiled.

THE END

Written by Zena Uzep.


End file.
